Broken Read online

  Angie was on a mission and decided I needed to know my competition, or enemy, as she put it. Not that I saw Annabel as competition; I was nowhere near her league in looks or brains, and I was pretty certain in the bedroom either. Still, I was curious to find out a little more about her, to discover what was so wonderful about this woman that had Adam running back to her even after she had laughed at his marriage proposal and broken his heart. How could he forgive something like that and sleep with her again after she’d clearly thought that she was so superior to him? He was sweet and thoughtful and sexy. He had come into my life and swept me away with how caring and helpful he had been. I needed to understand for my own peace of mind.

  We typed in what we knew, which wasn’t much.

  “Her name’s Dr. Annabel Carmichael, XYZPQM, or somethin’ like that. From Philadelphia.”

  Angie looked at me quizzically. “What the hell does XYZPQM mean?”

  “I don’t know. She had a stack of letters after her name. PhD somethin’ or other.”

  As soon as we typed in a few basics and hit Enter, page after page of search results pinged up, and I scanned them greedily, looking for any chink in her armor. If there was one, it wasn’t in print.

  The more I read, the more I wished we hadn’t gone exploring for dirt. She was as clean as a whistle, and then some. From accolades in breakthrough surgery techniques, to published articles in prestigious medical journals. If there were sainthood on offer, she would have won that too.

  “Okay, so do you feel better or worse knowin’ the woman who burst your bliss bubble is a freakin’ cardiologist who can juggle, tap dance, and recite poetry in French while performin’ a heart transplant blindfolded?”

  That image made me laugh a little maniacally. I dropped my head into my hands. How did I ever think I could compete with that? The woman had every base covered, and the man of my dreams was icing on the cake. What did I have to offer someone like Adam?

  We decided to get business out of the way, so I showed Angie what I had written so far. I was probably two-thirds of the way through the first draft, but she was pleasantly surprised, especially with the kissing scene.

  “That’s steamy,” she said. “Good as anythin’ I’ve read by published authors.”

  That had me beaming. I had been so concerned I wouldn’t measure up to the other authors Ang had signed and would let her down.

  “So are you gonna write as Eden Rose, or use your real name?”

  I hadn’t thought about that. I had only written as Eden Rose because I’d wanted the anonymity at college, for myself as well as for Charles. Now that I was an adult and no longer with Charles, the whole secrecy factor didn’t need to come into play. I could publish as Evie Rivers, and if I ever met a man and wanted to settle down, well, he would just have to accept me and my career.

  Angie tapped away at the computer, making notes in my manuscript, while I took Max for a quick walk on the beach to get some fresh air. I could tell by his restlessness that he was waiting for Adam to come home, and as soon as we were outside, he ran to Adam’s house and up onto the back deck, but the little cottage was dark.

  “Come on, Maxie, your dad’s not home yet.”

  His head tilted to one side, his big brown eyes full of sadness.

  “I know, buddy. I miss ’im, too, but at least you’ll get to spend time with ’im when he comes back.” I stroked his fur. “I don’t think I’ll be spendin’ much time with ’im anymore.”

  I wiped my teary eyes, and Max and I trudged back home to the warmth of the welcoming fire. It was New Year’s Eve, but we weren’t planning on going out.

  Instead, Angie opened her suitcase, half of which was full of booze. “I stopped off for essentials on the way here,” she announced, grinning, holding up a bottle of Patrón in one hand and three limes in the other. Tucked under her arms was a bottle of champagne, and one of Jim Beam. “Pick your poison.”

  We popped the champagne first, deciding it would go best with dinner, not that there was much for dinner. Having neglected the grocery shopping once more and not having Adam there to cook and take care of things in the kitchen, the only food I could find was some leftover spaghetti carbonara and cold pepperoni pizza.

  Making ourselves comfortable on cushions on the floor around the coffee table, we tucked into the thrown-together dinner. It was reminiscent of our college days, and it made me teary to think that so much had happened in our lives that had jaded us, from Angie’s cheating husband to my marriage turning into gray nothingness over the years. We’d had our share of heartache but we were still here, each hopeful that one day our very own Prince Charming would come along.

  “We need a toast,” Angie said, refilling my glass. “To bein’ a kick-ass success in the literary world, and makin’ all the douchebags that have crossed our paths regret breakin’ our hearts.”

  I drank to that. How could I not? “Well, I know one thing for sure—I’m givin’ up men. My tunnel vision is firmly set on finishin’ this book. My only concern is writin’ steamy sex scenes when I have no experience to draw on.” I was worried. How could I convincingly write about people getting hot and sweaty when I’d had no experience? Now writing about waxing the furniture or making cupcakes for a bake sale, that I could do no problem.

  “You need to watch some porn so you can see firsthand the positions you wanna write about,” Angie suggested.

  “I reckon I need a drink for that.”

  “I’ve got just the thing.”

  While Angie opened the bottle of Patrón, I found the shot glasses. We set up the laptop on the coffee table so we could both see, then sat back into the soft cushions of the sofa. I had no idea where to look up porn, so Angie took over.

  “Ya need to go into Redtube and search Decker Steele,” she explained, typing in the URL. “He’s A-grade amazin’ porn, not like some of the B-grade actors who you wouldn’t touch with a full-body condom.” She grimaced at the thought, making me giggle. It seemed the alcohol was having the desired effect, and I was beginning to unwind.

  As easy as that, my laptop screen was tarnished for life, as various body parts did the bump and grind up close.

  “There he is.” She sighed, as if she were watching an old friend.

  “Oh, he’s quite attractive, isn’t he?” For some reason I’d been expecting some hairy, potbellied middle-aged man with a cheesy mustache, but that was not the case at all.

  “Yep, he’s my go-to guy. There’s nothin’ a vibrator and Decker can’t fix.”

  Man, I needed to be taking notes. As we watched the naked gymnastic display unfold, my thoughts went to the first conversation I’d had with Adam, where he had described various positions in detail. It was one thing to have them explained, but seeing them brought the entire scenario together. I finally understood what Adam was trying to convey. I could use this in my books—maybe not the emotion behind the deed, as these people were acting, but definitely the physicality.

  I watched in awe as bodies writhed in unison and people moaned in ecstasy. Decker moved farther down the buxom beauty and Angie and I tilted our heads to the right to get a better view of the tongue tricks he was performing for our viewing pleasure.

  “He’s won awards for that,” she stated.

  “I ain’t surprised.” But watching Decker weave his magic just made me think of Adam giving Annabel a rash.

  Angie must have sensed my mood change and quickly clicked the video off.

  “Now this is what you don’t wanna describe.” She clicked into a fuzzy, older-looking clip. From the décor in the room it had been shot in the ‘70s. The guy was the cliché porn actor that I had imagined. The girl looked so high I doubted she would be able to recite the alphabet.

  “Let’s make this a bit more fun,” Angie suggested. “Turn it into a drinkin’ game.”

  I liked the sound of that. I needed something to get the image of Adam from my mind.

  “Every time the guy says ‘you like it like that’…”
<
br />   “Or the girl says ‘oh, yeah, baby,’” I added.

  “We have to do a shot.”

  Within half an hour, I was feeling so mellow I could have slid from the sofa onto the floor and stayed there.

  “She likes it like that!” we cheered in unison, clinked glasses, and took the shot.

  “Would I like it like that?” I wondered out aloud.

  Angie laughed. “You would. Not with that gorilla, but yeah, ya would.”

  Maybe it was the alcohol affecting my mood, but a wave of regret and despair washed over me.

  “I’m never gonna have sex again,” I muttered. “I shouldn’t have left Charles.”

  “Are ya kiddin’ me? You were married for seven years—seven—and he never made your toes curl the way Adam did.”

  “We could’ve worked on it,” I offered.

  “A leopard can’t change his stripes.”

  I frowned. “Leopards don’t have stripes.”

  “Exactly,” she said, as if it was a done deal.

  We sat in silence for a while, watching the Neanderthal on-screen. Every minute or two we took a shot, as the script seemed to consist of very little other than the two phrases we’d picked out.

  My head was buzzing from the Patrón, until one singular thought entered my mind: I needed to speak to Charles.

  Picking up my phone from the coffee table, I barely managed to unlock the keypad. “I’m gonna call Charles, see how he’s doin’.”

  Before my sluggish reflexes could react, Angie took a dive at me, snatching the phone from my hand and tumbling off my lap and onto the floor, where she sprang up like a ninja and scurried into the kitchen.

  “I won’t let ya do it,” she called, bouncing up and down while holding the phone above her head.

  I raced over, blocking the only entrance in or out from behind the kitchen counter. “Gimme that phone.”

  She zigged and I zagged, resembling something that might be seen at a wrestling match.

  “Nope, ain’t gonna happen.” She was still holding the phone above her head, as if she were six feet tall and I wouldn’t be able to reach. But she was shorter than me, and with her heels kicked off long ago, she was barely up to my shoulder.

  I made a play for it, but she was surprisingly quick for someone who was plastered. She ducked left and I just managed to catch her leg as she darted past. Angie went sliding along the polished floorboards and I followed her down, both of us sprawled on our stomachs, laughing our asses off.

  Crawling to the phone that had slid under the coffee table, I grabbed it up, holding it behind my back.

  “Back away, Ang.”

  She raised her head to look at me for a moment, before admitting defeat and flopping face-first back down on the floor.

  Dialing my phone was a whole other challenge as the keypad blurred into three. Finally, I found Charles’s number and hit the call button.

  “Evelyn, this is a pleasant surprise,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  Closing my eyes, I imagined his perfect teeth, formed into the rehearsed smile, beaming at me from the other end of the line.

  “Hello, Charles, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,” I said cheerily. “Just thought I’d call to say hi and see how y’all are doin’.”

  In my mind I sounded perfectly normal, but he picked up my slurred words straightaway.

  “You sound like you’ve been havin’ a good time. Where are ya, Evelyn?”

  I looked around, frowning. “I’m on the sofa.”

  His resonating chuckle echoed down the phone. “And where’s that sofa?”

  In the livin’ room.

  “Oh, I’m in the Hamptons. It’s just lovely here. You should see the place. It’s right on the beach. You’d love it, Charles.”

  We chatted amicably for a few minutes, Charles asking me exactly where the house was, and me trying to give directions by picturing an area in my foggy brain that I didn’t really know. It was good to hear his voice, familiar. Throughout our separation he had remained hopeful, always making it known that he didn’t want the marriage to end. For him it was for life, and I’d always thought it was for me, too, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t face the prospect of one more day waking up beside him and feeling empty. One more day of having to wear the false smile and pretend that everything was wonderful when I was dying, little by little, inside. I had truly believed we would both be happier apart. Now? Well now that I had experienced what was out there in the world, maybe I had been wrong. Maybe feeling nothing for the man you were with was better than being heartbroken. I knew Charles so well and with a little stroking of his ego I was sure we could live harmoniously together.

  We said our goodbyes and promised to talk again soon, maybe even catch up for lunch. By the time I’d hung up the phone, a sense of relief had washed over me. I wasn’t cut out for the big bad world. If the shock of my leaving could help me convince Charles to accept my writing career and perhaps attend counseling, the possibility of reconciliation seemed promising.

  Angie had finally picked herself up from the floor and was sitting beside me. “I must be seein’ things. There’s either a drop-dead gorgeous guy who’s just materialized at your door, or I seriously need to drink more often so he’s a permanent figment of my imagination.”

  Trying to focus as my head slowly turned, my heart leapt to my throat when I saw Adam standing on the other side of the glass, hands on hips, looking totally lickable.

  “Humph, that’s Adam.”

  “Oh, yeah, baby!” Angie cried, but I wasn’t sure if it was in response to the video clip, or Adam’s presence. Either way, she took another shot.

  “I ain’t lettin’ him in,” I said, scowling, but Max had other ideas as he raced to the window, his tail wagging furiously as he jumped in circles waiting for me to unlock the door.

  “Yes, you are. You’re gonna let him in and make him grovel. Then when he’s groveled a significant amount, you’re gonna drag him into the bedroom and let him do all the unspeakable things we’ve been watchin’ for the last hour.”

  I staggered over to the door, tripping on the edge of the rug and nearly falling on my ass.

  “Yes, Mr. Walker, what can I do for ya?” Squinting my eyes, I tried to see just one of him as I slid the glass open.

  He wore a devilishly handsome smile as he leaned down to say hello to his excited best friend. “I just got back and came straight over.” His hand went to my cheek. “I missed you, Evie. Thought I’d come over and bring in the new year with you. Looks like I’ve missed the party, though.” He frowned, his gaze shifting from me to the laptop, as the grunting on the clip grew louder, piquing my suspicion that Angie had cranked the volume up. “What are you watching?”

  I swung around, holding firmly to the door handle for balance. “Angie, my very best friend in the world, and I are watchin’ porn—for research.”

  “Oh quick, Evie, shot…she likes it like that!”

  I raced over to my glass but Adam was quicker, taking the glass and downing the Patrón himself.

  He turned to Angie, who was studying him through squinted eyes. “Hi, I’m Adam,” he said with a sexy-as-sin smile.

  Angie gave him a cool nod before glancing in my direction. I couldn’t help it—just seeing Adam had me turning to goo all over again. She sighed, reading my puppy-dog eyes like a polished novel.

  “Pleased to meet you, Adam. Why don’t ya have a drink?”

  Smiling, he took hold of the Patrón. “I think I’ve got some catching up to do,” he said as he filled the glass and shot that one back as well.

  Snatching the bottle from his hand, I lost my balance, toppling back onto the sofa with a thud. Adam caught the bottle just in time before it hit the floor, placing it back on the table.

  “I think you need some fresh air, Evie.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Impressively, I managed to make it to the steps leading from the deck to the sand before planting my b
ackside down on the rough wood.

  For the longest time we sat quietly, watching and listening to the ocean. Adam’s hand rested gently on my knee, his thumb lightly stroking my leg. It was warm and comforting; then in my drunken haze, tears rose and tipped over my lashes.

  Finally, Adam spoke. “I think I’m missing something here, baby. Can you fill me in, please? I thought you were okay with me going to Philly for a couple of days. You said you were fine.” He studied my face, his brow furrowed. “I’m guessing you weren’t really okay with it.”

  My head clunked against the railing and stayed there, my silent tears turning into loud, blubbering sobs. “You…you left me here and now Abannel’s…got…got a beard rash on her cooch, and she can’t walk.”

  He sniggered beside me. “Baby, if Abannel’s got a rash on her cooch, it has nothing to do with me.”

  “Ya know her boobs ain’t real, right?” For some reason it seemed important that he know that. “I mean, when I lie on my back, my boobs go squish and spread to the sides. Hers would stand up straight.”

  Adam covered his mouth to hide the laughter. “Thank you for the visual, and yes I know they’re not real. I helped pay for them.”

  “Why’d ya do that?”

  “Because she wanted them, and I wanted to make her happy.”

  “Would you pay for my fake boobs?” I inquired.

  “You don’t need implants. Yours are perfect the way they are, even if they do go squish when you lie down.”

  “You went to see her, though, didn’t you? That’s why ya went runnin’ off to Philadelphia.”

  “What? No, hang on. I told you I had an appointment. She had to sign some documents for me—that was why she was here—but I didn’t see her while I was away. I didn’t even call her, I promise.”

  I could hear talking, but I wasn’t listening. All I could picture was Adam doing to Miss Freaking America what I’d been watching for the last hour.

  “Evie…Evelyn, listen to me.”